Bare Feet

She's running.

My feet crinkle the leaves beneath me. Filthy bugs slither between my toes. My skin is chill, raising goosebumps in the morning air.
I have just escaped. I ran to a forest, bolting out of my wretched prison. As I step with my bare feet I feel free. Although I have no idea where I am, I know its better than where I was.
How icky that old house was. The way that man stared at me like a wild pig. My thin body received no nourishment, only the pressing heat of his thick skin touching me.
But here I run, aimless, hopefully spinning to a place I know is right. Where my frail body can build into a lady of value. While I walk barefoot, dressed in ragged clothes – because in that house I never needed to dress- I picture a new place. Starting with my bare feet.